


Memories of a Storm

by NorroenDyrd



Series: Storied Past, Storied Present [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, Memories, Romance, Sea-longing, Storms, The Fade, Waking Sea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 05:31:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13288026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorroenDyrd/pseuds/NorroenDyrd
Summary: Enasalin Lavellan, who used to be many things before he became Inquisitor, most notably a pirate, indulges in Cassandra's romantic side by taking her to the Fade and letting her experience a mighty storm he once sailed through.





	Memories of a Storm

 Enasalin Lavellan is an elf with a past that it as vibrant and mesmerizing as the net of criss-crossing scars and tattoos and birthmarks and constellations like freckle clusters scattered across the warm brown skin of his shoulders and lean yet muscular back. Not that Cassandra became too distracted when, bleary-eyed and messy-haired, she would shuffle out of her tent early in the morning and catch Enasalin bathing, with his long, sleek salt-and-pepper hair undone and trailing over his body in wet ribbons… All right, all right, time to put an end to this. This digression is getting inappropriate.  
  
  
   Enasalin Lavellan is an elf with a past: Leliana’s personal case files say that his clan would wander through the Free Marches, and as a young hunter not yet out of his teens, Enasalin was separated from his kin and, for many years before his clan crossed paths with him again and welcomed him back, had to make a living among humans, going through a number of professions that included - Maker how romantic! - a Waking Sea raider. For some reason that he is still reluctant to touch upon, his eventful backstory has been quite a burden to him most of his life, and he would take little joy in talking about it… Until he met Cassandra - and, through a series of events of varying awkwardness that led them to befriend one another, discovered her terrible guilty secret. It was Cassandra who inspired him (by his own admission) to look upon what he has been through as a thrilling adventure that deserves to be shared. And now, he is doing just that: wielding the mystical power the Maker poured into his Mark to let himself and the Seeker, who is lying in a tent next to his, sheltered by a glistening, rain-battered outcrop on the Storm Coast, experience a lucid dream based on the events of his past.  
  
  
   Having always been taught to be wary of demons and their trickery, Cassandra was initially reluctant to accept Enasalin’s offer to explore his memories in the Fade (‘I am not so good with putting all I’ve seen into words yet,’ he confessed to her, with a small, shy laugh that somehow made his weather-worn face look very youthful. ‘But I do want to you to… get to know about my past’). But he has reassured her that Solas will be there too, keeping watch in case something happened - and Blackwall was guarding the campsite in the waking world, a small hunched silhouette against the swell of the frothing water. So, here she is: standing by his side in the Fade while their bodies are plunged in slumber - face to face with the mountain-tall waves of a different stretch of the sea, Fade-green at first and then darkening to the likeness of deepest black ink. High above them, the clouds are lapping against one another in a dizzying circular motion, blinding white lightning occasionally splitting a crack in their massive grey wall; and underfoot, the creaking, slippery boards of a sea-splashed deck have begun to stretch out into the misty distance.  
  
  
   ‘Oh, I remember that storm,’ Enasalin whispers, inhaling deeply. 'We barely made it out. Oh fenedhis, I was bloody terrified!’  
  
  
   'Well, you needn’t be afraid now!’ Cassandra blurts out so impulsively that her mind only registers the echo of her words long after they are out of her mouth. Dear heavens, did some demon find its way into her head? Did it read her innermost thoughts; did it learn about that warmth of gratification that flows through her, sweet like melted chocolate, whenever she manages to protect and reassure her Herald?  
  
  
   Thank the Maker Enasalin did not find her random outburst too ridiculous. He has merely quirked his eyebrow curiously, his silvery-grey eyes lingering on her face… She really wishes they wouldn’t - because she can feel her mind going blank again, and her voice shaping itself into even more foolish, foolish words.  
  
  
   'Because I am right here’.  
  
  
   Enasalin chuckles, thankfully lowering his gaze, while his ears blossom a vivid pink.  
  
  
   'If you were there, you would have just looked at the clouds sternly, and they would have dispersed. Come now, we are about to see the sea raiders in action’.  
  
  
   It is by sheer miracle that Cassandra does not wake up then and there, panting and squeaking faintly in a manner not at all befitting a proud warrior of the Inquisition.


End file.
